


Not it!

by happywriter16



Category: Black Panther (2018), Tag (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Black Character(s), Black Female Character, Black Male Character, Female Character of Color, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Linda says more than 5 words, Male Character of Color, Male Friendship, Tag (2018) Spoilers, Tag: Black Panther style, are people still doing this?, badassery still abounds, chromatic, no one's a superhero or royalty or an assassin, no one's related, set in America so they talk like Americans, she still apologizes here though, speaking Ebonics, the n-word is used once, the word motherfucker is used a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywriter16/pseuds/happywriter16
Summary: “Get your ass up, man. Let’s go. We’re going to get Erik this year.”“You say that every year.”“I know but this time I know it’s going to happen.”





	Not it!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic tracks with the movie Tag pretty much scene for scene from what I can remember. I only saw it once. And I know some of my descriptions of scenes do not do the movie justice try as I might. So don’t read unless you want to be spoiled. I highly recommend the movie because it’s hilarious. Some parts are implausible yet it’s so entertaining you can over look the unbelievable stuff.

 

He was lucky the company had been in a bind and needed janitors. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to get this close to M’Baku. The security in his apartment building was top notch as was his office building. Even if he had been able to get pass his apartment’s security, M’Baku pretty much went underground every May. The only place T’Challa knew he’d be everyday would be at work.

M’Baku – dressed in an impeccably tailored light grey suit, well-shined brown shoes and a fresh cut ( _probably got it this morning_ ) – walked right by him with a look T’Challa was very familiar with when M’Baku was feeling himself. His smile was big, bright and smug just around the edges. M’Baku had the confidence of 10 men and could back it up but he wasn’t actually a jerk so T’Challa and their buddies let his ego slide most of the time.

He let M’Baku get comfortable as he sat down to talk to the female reporter for Black Enterprise in one of many glass conference rooms in the place.

“Hey, excuse me. Excuse me,” M’Baku said, having to raise his voice on every word to be heard over the noise the janitor was making. _This guy was must be new. The regulars know how be quiet._ “Would you mind …”

“Actually, I would, M’Baku,” T’Challa says as he turns to look at M’Baku, peeling off his hat and glasses in the process.

For a man his size, M’Baku has always been able to move with a certain amount of grace. Even totally surprised, he manages to get out his seat without falling over.

“T! What the fuck?! You don’t think I can get out of here?”

“How?”

“Watch this?”

T’Challa watches then nearly keels over laughing as M’Baku throws a chair at the glass wall, the chair bounce off the wall and hits him in the face. _God damn, I wish I had that on camera._

“Oh my god!” T’Challa hears the reporter say behind him.

T’Challa rushes around the table, with tears of laughter in his eyes, to help M’Baku. “You okay, man?” They’ve been through worse. He knows M’Baku’s okay. Because he’s dazed, he readily takes the hand T’Challa’s offering.

At the same time, M’Baku say, “Thanks,” T’Challa, says “You’re it!”

“FUCK!” T’Challa laughs. M’Baku really looks at him then. “You’re a janitor? You got a job here?”

“Yeah. You get ghost in May. This is the only place I’d knew you’d be.” He starts walking towards the door, saying as he goes, “Let’s go. We got work to do.”

“I can’t go.”

T’Challa spins on his heels. “Why not?”

“I’m in the middle of an interview.”

“Not important.”

“Excuse me,” the reporter says. T’Challa finally has a chance to look at her as she stands looking at him. She’s young. She looks like a teenager. She’s got long braids pulled back in a pony tail. She looks positively affronted that he’d say her job isn’t important. She’s dressed in white, which strikes T’Challa as weird, but she looks good, professional.

“Look, I’m sure you’re good at what you do and you have to get this done. Unfortunately, what we” – he gestures between himself and M’Baku, who’s taken his seat again – “have to do is historically significant.”

“Why is that?” M’Baku asks.

“Get your ass up, man. Let’s go. We’re going to get Erik this year.”

“You say that every year.”

“I know but this time I know it’s going to happen.”

“You also say that every year so no.” M’Baku gets that look on his face that means ‘you’re bothering me, boring me, so cut it the fuck out before you get dealt with.’ _Motherfucker!_

“Erik says he’s retiring after this year.”

“That motherfucker trying to go out like that?”

“Yup.”

M’Baku stands. “Ms. Shuri, we’re going to have to reschedule. I’ll have my secretary call you.”

“No. You have to explain what just happened here. He says you’re it, you guys talked about some guy named Erik, and now you’re just leaving?”

 

 

Four hours later they – M’Baku, Shuri, T’Challa, and Nakia – are on a plane to Baltimore, Maryland, first class courtesy of M’Baku, to pick up W’Kabi. Shuri was well and truly caught up on why T’Challa had gotten a job as a janitor despite being the head of a very successful non-profit in Wakanda to tag one of his best friends of twenty-five plus years. And why they had to get to Erik this weekend. In the twenty some years they had been playing tag, Erik had never been it. “The motherfucker’s a ninja or something,” M’Baku had said.

He told the story about how one time, he thought he had Erik trapped in a phone booth one night. It was raining, pouring down. When M’Baku was about two feet away, the lights in the area when out for at most 10 seconds. When the lights came back up, Erik was gone. “Till this day, I don’t know how he did it,” M’Baku had said. Shuri accused him of making it up. “I swear fo’ God,” M’Baku had said. 

At first, M’Baku didn’t want to tell anything to a reporter but had no choice once T’Challa had spilled the beans. He has a sneaking suspicion he’s going to lose his job when everything is said and done, his face and name splashed across the magazine about some kid’s game and not the company. Lucky for him Erik decided to get married during Memorial Day weekend, which means M’Baku wasn’t going to be working anyway so his secretary only had to clear today’s schedule.

 

 

Even high, W’Kabi can move. Good thing, T’Challa and M’Baku had changed into more comfortable clothes, since W’Kabi has them chasing his ass around his apartment complex. Well, mostly T’Challa. He’s fast, his movements described as feline when he ran track in high school and college, but W’Kabi knows the complex better. The complex is set up around a courtyard that has two entrances. T’Challa talked into the walkie talkies he’d brought – because T’Challa is always prepared – to let them know W’Kabi was going down the fire escape that leads into the courtyard. Nakia positions herself in their rental right on the sidewalk at one entrance.

T’Challa can hear W’Kabi yell when he sees Nakia, “YOU ARE TOO INTENSE!!”  He can hear Nakia cackle with manic delight.

M’Baku, jumping out from his crouched position behind some tall shrubs, tackles W’Kabi. “You’re it!” he crows before jumping up then fist bumping T’Challa. “You set him up, I knock him down.”

“Fuck dude, you can’t be hitting people like that. This ain’t the field,” W’Kabi whines at M’Baku. He coughs. “I think I’m dying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” M’Baku responds. “You getting weak. You need to stop smoking that shit.”

“Hey, my wife’s dead.”

“You’re divorced.”

“She’s dead to me.”

T’Challa opens his mouth to interrupt to discuss more important matters when the sound of a car horn cuts through the air. “LET’S GO BITCHES!!” The accent she’s picked up since living in Wakanda makes Nakia sound like a crazy international assassin.

“T, why did you bring the wife? She’s fucking crazy,” W’Kabi asks as they walk towards the car.  

T’Challa laughs. “I know.”

Both Nakia and Shuri are waiting by the car that is still on the sidewalk.

“Hey, W’Kabi,” Nakia says, opening her arms for a hug. “You got 15 minutes to pack so we can hit the road.”

“Who’s this?” he asks, after pulling away and gesturing towards Shuri.

“Questions later. Pack now,” Nakia orders pushing him towards the building.

“Fucking drill sergeant,” he says laughingly.

 

 

The traffic in DC is abysmal. As usual. So by the time they get to a hotel near Ross’s apartment building, they’re too tired. Ross is a creature of habit. He’s been going to the same therapist for years so don’t have to get a jump on it. Getting him can wait till morning.

 

 

“Oh, shit!” Ross would recognize that voice and laugh anywhere.

“What was that?” his therapist asks.

Ross sighs. “Come on out guys.”

“Who are you talking to?” his therapist asks.

“Us,” T’Challa says once the closet door is opened. Out spills T’Challa, W’Kabi, and M’Baku. The closet’s not that deep so it’s comical how they fall out of it.

“What the hell? How did you guys get in here?” the therapist asks. She reminds T’Challa of his mother when she’s mad and bout ready to call someone to get bail money ready because she’s going to kill or at least maim somebody. “I’m calling the police.”

“Please don’t,” Ross is saying. He steps between the guys and Ms. Thurston. “These guys are my friends. They don’t mean any harm. They’re playing a joke on me.”

“They broke into my office.”

“If you want to be technical about it,” W’Kabi says.

“Not helping,” Ross tells him.

“I want an explanation,” Ms. Thurston tells Ross.

W’Kabi walks up behind Ross and places a hand on his shoulder. He says to Ross, “You’re it,” then turns his head to speak to the therapist. “He promises to tell you everything during his next session -” He looks back at Ross “Because, oh my God, you got serious issues bro.” Then back to Ms. Thurston. “We have to go now.”

“Yes, so sorry to interrupt,” T’Challa is saying, showing all his teeth, hoping his smile works its usual magic.

“I still have an hour left.”

“You definitely need it – holy shit you need it – but we gotta go,” M’Baku says. “This is the year we get Erik.”

“We say that every year.”

“This time it’s true.”

T’Challa pulls out the Facebook post that shows where Erik will be for the entire weekend. His wedding. He’s a sitting duck.

“No way,” Ross says looking up from the paper into each of the guys’ faces. “Finally!”

He turns to Ms. Thurston who’s still standing there looking angry. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

She calls after him, “You’re still paying for the entire hour!”

 

 

Though they live all over the world, Oakland is still home. Ramonda, T’Challa’s mom, still lives there, in the same house he grew up in. She greets them all warmly then quietly admonishes Nakia and T’Challa for not having come to visit sooner. She even flirts with W’Kabi over dinner, which T’Challa thinks she does to mess with him for not visiting in a while.

She’s able to tell them when and where the wedding is to take place, Sunday at 4pm at the Baldwin Hills country club. They all decide crashing the wedding wouldn’t be cool so they go to Smitty’s to see what UK can tell them. He knows everything. His bar – used to be his dad’s – has been an Oakland institution since before any of them were born. UK’s dad was one of the few white people – him and Ross’s dad – not afraid to do business in Oakland back in the day.

 

 

“You know we can’t tag you. You’re not a part of the game,” T’Challa says to UK for the umpteenth time. And UK still looks a kicked puppy for the umpteenth time. They all hung out together but UK was not around that summer when this game started and no one has been allowed to join it. _Time to pull out the big guns._ “We’ll listen to your mix tape if you tell us where Erik is,” T’Challa says. The smile on UK’s face is blinding.

“Don’t make use listen to your mix tape,” Ross says. “How about being interviewed by this lovely young lady?” He gestures for Shuri to come closer. “This young lady is a world famous journalist doing a story on us, this game of tag. You can be a part of the story if you tell us where Erik will be. You’re the key to us getting him this year.”

 “Is this true?” UK asks sliding to stand right in front of Shuri as he stands behind the bar. Shuri smiles big and just nods her head in agreement with everything Ross says. He stares at her, his face giddy, before he lowers his head to whisper conspiratorarily. “The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow at five.  The actual rehearsal is supposed to be at 3:30.  Everything’s at the Country Club.”

“Thanks, UK,” M’Baku saying clapping him on the shoulder.

“My first name is spelled U-L-Y-S-S-E-S. Last name K-L-A,” UK tells Shuri.

“Yeah, she’s got it. Let’s roll,” T’Challa says to the group.

 

 

Shuri makes the call that gets Erik to the country club, explaining that they could no longer host the wedding due to mold being found. None of the others can make the call because he’d recognize their voices. She’s not supposed to be involved in her stories. She makes an exception in this case.

If there were guns involved, it would’ve been a bloodbath, with the only one guy left standing – Erik. _They weren’t kidding. He IS a ninja._ Shuri watches in amazement as Erik takes down each of the guys without coming into bodily contact with any of them. At least M’Baku and T’Challa don’t go down without a fight, a valiant effort.  He took down M’Baku with a tablecloth. _He’s got to show me how he did that._

“Truce!” Erik yells as he stands in front of the doors to the club. He’s barely breathing hard.

“Truce” the rest of them say one by one.

“Erik!” Nakia yells, coming over to hug him.

“How you been girl?”

“Good, good. You been great I hear. Getting married and ain’t tell nobody.”

“My girl’s out in the truck. You want me to get her?” Nakia gives him a look like ‘You asking this for real?’ “Be right back.”

A couple of minutes later Linda is introduced and says, “It’s my fault guys that you weren’t invited. After Erik explained everything, I was like this can’t happen during my wedding. All the women in my family get married in May, since my ancestors jumped the broom. I told Erik not to tell you. So my fault entirely. I’m sorry but since you’re here now, you have to come, can you just…”

M’Baku interrupts to say, “Amendment.”

“Agreed.”

Minutes later Linda’s reading the amendment. “No tag on Saturday at the breakfast morning from 8 to 10, lunch from 12 to 2, the rehearsal through dinner from 3 to 7 and our wedding day,” she breaks to look adoringly at Erik who smiles back. Nakia has to nudge T’Challa. She’s never seen Erik look so happy. “No tag on our wedding day after 12pm. Deal?”

Linda’s pretty. Light brown, with kind brown eyes, and a strong physique. She looks like she works out, which Erik likes in a woman, and she doesn’t mind that she plays tag. Nakia likes her immediately. She can understand the wedding thing, Linda not wanting to deal with tag during the run up to the wedding and the actual day. Even with the amendment, thing can get crazy.  

“That’s a hell of a lot of time where we can’t do what we came for,” W’Kabi complains.

“Sign it,” T’Challa orders after he and M’Baku sign.

“W’Kabi’s right,” Ross says, begrudgingly signing his name last.

“Let me see that,” Shuri says, reaching for the stacks of papers.

“Okay, it’s late and we have to get up early,” Erik says, rising from his seat.

Shuri reads through the documents as they exchange goodbyes. Touching is allowed during a truce apparently. Different kinds of paper – some ripped from spiral notebooks, legal pads, some are even old flyers they wrote on the back of – detail the amendments to the game over the last twenty years. It’s all in T’Challa’s neat script.

 

 

“We need to go to his house,” W’Kabi says.

“That’s too obvious,” Ross points out.

“Exactly. He’ll think that we’ll think it’s too obvious so he’ll be there.”

“Yeah, so obviously he’ll think that we’ll think that it’s too obvious and then go home because he’ll obviously not be there.”

They can do this all night. “Let’s just go see,” T’Challa says.

 

“This is breaking and entering again guys. Third time,” Ross unhelpfully supplies. “Didn’t get enough of that already gentlemen?” They should really be in jail now. The country club surprisingly has shit security. But Erik’s neighborhood doesn’t. They only got through the gates because Shuri flashed her Black Enterprise credentials and said she was meeting Erik Stevens for an interview about the wedding. She’d explained everyone else in the car was part of her team since it was going to be a big story. Shuri had been able to do some research on Erik and discovered he’s a local celebrity having opened a couple of gyms in the area. He counts a few celebrities as clients.

The neighborhood is really nice. The kind of place where black people with money have lived since black people with money could move in. It was the only place black folk with money could live in peace. There’s was always the fear though that white folks would come in and take over or burn it to ground because they got tired of the “uppity niggers.”

“It doesn’t count if you know the person.”

“That’s not true,” Shuri tells them. “That’s so not true.” _I should’ve stayed in the car._ She’s going to have to leave this out of the final story less they all get arrested for their cross country crime spree.

Five minutes into their search of the house, it appears as though Erik’s not home. It’s confirmed when all the screens in the house turn on and it’s Erik. Behind him appears to be a wall in T’Challa’s basement.

“He’s at my house,” T’Challa said not at all sure of what’s happening.

“Hey, fellas. As you can see I’m not at home but I’m at somebody’s home.” Erik smiles that smile that makes people want to punch him before going to sit down in the bamboo chair like the one in that iconic photo of Huey P. Newton. Erik has a stuffed animal in his hand.

“Bast. He’s got Bast,” T’Challa practically growls.

Nakia grabs for T’Challa’s hand. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll kick his ass later.”

“It’s kind of lonely down here. I’m bored,” Erik says, smiling at the camera. He then turns to Bast, a black toy panther that T’Challa’s has had since he was a kid. His parents were both in the movement and got him it. When they would go to meetings and he couldn’t go, they told him Bast would watch out for him. “What should we do Bast?” He puts the toy up to his ear as if Bast is speaking. “Sounds like a plan.” He reaches off screen and pulls into view a bottle of lotion.

“OH, HELL NAW!!”

 

 

They make it back to T’Challa’s house in no time, running through the house like they’re kids to the basement.

It’s empty.

T’Challa’s cells rings. “T, man, you home yet?” Erik asks like he has no idea what’s going on.  

“Where are you?” T’Challa yells into the phone.

“In my basement. Have a good night.”

It takes all of T’Challa’s willpower not to hurl his phone at the wall. He settles for gripping in his hand as if he could actually crush it. “Where is he?” Nakia asks.

“His basement.”

“What?” She’s incredulous.

“That dude is out of control,” W’Kabi says, dropping on the couch and pulling out a joint that’s been in his pocket since he found it in T’Challa’s basement earlier in the day. T’Challa’s mom still hasn’t found the spot where they used to hide all kinds of stuff they wanted their parents knowing about.

“Nobody goes to bed until we plan our next move,” T’Challa announces.

 

 

T’Challa had to be cut down from a tree and Ross was chloroformed. This was after a chase through the woods surrounding the golf course in golf carts. “Are you serious?” Shuri asks. “Dead ass serious,” T’Challa responds. She and Nakia had stayed at the club talking with people who stuck around after the rehearsal dinner while the guys went after Erik. “Erik managed to convince the grounds crew to dress up like him and run around the woods surrounding the club and make us think he’s everywhere. They set traps, too.”

“Chloroform though?”

“That motherfucker is no joke,” M’Baku says. “He’s fucking crazy. He must work for the CIA with Ross. That would explain the phone booth.”

“Shut up, M’Baku,” Ross says.

“And where were you, M’Baku?” Nakia asks, eyes cutting daggers at M’Baku via the rearview mirror.  

It’s not possible to make himself seem small. M’Baku tries anyway and the tension in the car ratchets up at Nakia’s words.

W’Kabi is right. Nakia is intense. Sweet but intense. In talking to her, Shuri found Nakia strikes you as someone that’s nice, sweet, maybe too nice. She just has this soft, youthful way about her. But then she switches and it’s like she’s the type of woman that would use that softness to her advantage. Like if she went to prison, she’d lure her enemies in and then shank them when they least expect it. She never wants to be on Nakia’s bad side.

M’Baku had been talking to Okoye when he should’ve been manning one of the exits. Everyone knew the Erik would take advantage of the fact that Okoye had been invited and would serve as the perfect distraction – either W’Kabi or M’Baku would be in her face totally not focused on tagging Erik.

 They’ve known Okoye since junior high. First she liked W’Kabi. Then she liked M’Baku. Then back to W’Kabi throughout their last year. Then in high school she was into other people. That didn’t stop M’Baku or W’Kabi from trying to get with her. W’Kabi did manage to take her to the senior prom and they dated a few weeks that summer before college.

She’d shown up at the country club in a red, fitted dress that had a deep plunge in the front. She was bald. It suited her. Made her the sexiest woman in the building. Any other time, Nakia would’ve been glad to see her.

“You fucked up, M’Baku,” W’Kabi tells him. “Plan B better work.”

 

 

“How can I help you?” Jamal says in greeting them as they enter the first gym Erik ever opened.

M’Baku approaches the counter flanked by Nakia and T’Challa. “We’re looking for your boss, Erik Stevens.”

“Oh, he told me a group of people would be looking for him. He left a message.” Jamal looks through some papers under the counter and then stands back up with a piece of paper. “Fuck you.”

“Nice,” Ross says.

Nakia makes to grab for Jamal but M’Baku is faster, putting his arm up to block her. Ross and Shuri pull her away from the counter.

“Jamal, is it?” M’Baku asks.

“That’s what the name tag says.”

“Ha ha. I like you.” Jamal looks even less impressed than he did a second ago, if that’s even possible. “Look we’ll give you $500 for information on where Erik is.”

“Can’t help you.”

“A thousand,” T’Challa offers.

“Nope.”

“If you don’t tell us what you know, we’re going to beat the shit out of you,” W’Kabi states matter-of-factly, his voice completely devoid of emotion. Everyone turns to look at him – Jamal out of fear and the rest like ‘this wasn’t part of the plan.’ His face is blank. By the time they all turn to look at Jamal, their faces say they’re on board with the plan.

It makes sense though. Of them all, Erik and W’Kabi were the ones most likely to get into fights. Erik because he had something to proof and W’Kabi because everyone thought his stoner ways (way before he was actually a stoner) made him soft.

 

 

They get Jamal tied to a chair with some jump ropes in back room in the gym. “One last chance,” W’Baki tells him as M’Baku puts on boxing gloves. “Tell us where we can find Erik or my friend here starts punching.” He turns to M’Baku. “What you benching this days M’Baku?”

“One forty.”

W’Kabi whistles, impressed.

“Where’s Erik?” W’Kabi’s right by Jamal’s face. “Tell me.”

Shuri can’t believe this is happening. _I should get a Pulitzer for this if I don’t wind up in prison._

“Like I said before, Erik said to tell y’all to ‘fuck you.’”

“You heard the man,” W’Kabi says standing straight up and backing away from Jamal.

All eyes on M’Baku as he stands still, his fists up, as he’s walking towards Jamal, who’s sweating, a bead of it running down from his hairline to run into his left eye. All his previous bravado gone. In the microsecond that he blinks M’Baku is right there in his face.

He braces for an impact that never comes.

“Fuck, man. I’m not going to beat you up. I’m not a fighter.” He laughs, it strained as he turns to Shuri. “I was never going to beat him up. I’m not that guy. We’re not those kinds of people. Well, maybe Ross. He works for the CIA and shit.”

“Hey, hey,” Ross says coming up to M’Baku. “Shut your mouth.” He smiles at Shuri before pushing M’Baku away from her.  

Nakia’s crouching next to Jamal. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck no! Erik ain’t warn me about this type of shit. Y’all crazy as fuck.”

M’Baku’s back to being in front of Jamal. No one misses the flinch that Jamal makes when M’Baku approaches. “Man, $1500 for info on Erik.”

He looks around the room, at the guilty looks on everyone’s face. He puffs his chest out as much as he can given the ropes. “Make it 2 G’s. Extra $500 for what y’all done put me through.”

“That’s fair,” T’Challa says. “Tell us then we’ll untie you and pay you.”

 

 

The only one of them that doesn’t seem to have an issue with going after Erik in a church is Ross. “Guys, it’s just a building. A storefront. We can tag Erik in here.”

It was a store front that used to be a church and is now a community center. It still shows signs of being a church. “My mama is going to kick my ass if she ever finds out,” W’Kabi says.

“Then don’t tell her,” Ross says. He gives the guys a few more minutes in the car, before he’s opening the door. “As Nakia would say, ‘let’s go bitches.’”

“Not on a Sunday. She would not say that on a Sunday,” T’Challa tells him.

Hopefully, for the last time, they break and enter a building. Jamal had said the AA meeting Erik would be attending starts at 9am. Which is weird given its Sunday but whatever. They come out of their hiding spots at 9:30, seal the doors and windows outside the main room where the meeting is held then enter.

“We got you Erik,” T’Challa says, as they enter the room. “We got you now.” He’s practically vibrating, feeling like this is it. They are going to get him. Finally. There’s no escape. They’d managed to seal all the exits – doors and windows – save for the main entrance before anyone came. There’s no escape.

An older gentlemen stands up and asks, “May I help you gentlemen?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ross says. “We’re just here to see Erik.”

“Well, we’re in the middle of a meeting. Can it wait?”

“We’ve already been waiting 25 years,” Ross states.

The older man turns to look at Erik. “These cops or something Erik?”

“I’ll explain later, Zuri.”

 

 

“I still can’t believe what you’re telling me,” Zuri says to T’Challa.

“It’s true. We’ve been at this 25 years and Erik has never been caught.”

“Y’all boys crazy.”

“Maybe but my dad always said, ‘You don’t stop playing because you get old. You get old because you stop playing.’ Plus, it keeps us in touch. There’s always a reason to reach out. These guys came to my dad’s funeral, not Erik; he was out the country and couldn’t make it. W’Kabi tagged me. I laughed so hard. It was the first time in days I’d laughed,” T’Challa explains.

“I still can’t believe Erik’s an alcoholic,” W’Kabi says to M’Baku as they sit with Ross by the door to an office off the main room. Erik had made it back there eventually. He was trapped. The office had a door that opened to the back alley but they’d blocked it with a dumpster. He’d barricaded himself in the office. “We didn’t know about that. He doesn’t tell us about the wedding. Maybe we aren’t that great of friends anymore.”

M’Baku doesn’t have a chance to respond because Linda’s marching into the room wearing a white button down and black yoga pants. Bride is spelled out in crystals down the right side of her right leg.

“Where is he?” Everyone’s scrambling to their feet. They’re smart enough not to say anything. They just point to the door of the office.

Linda stomps over to the door. Everyone expects her to start pounding on it and screaming. Instead she takes a deep breath and starts talking like she’s trying to coax a scared animal out from under the house.

“N’Jadaka,” she says.

“She used his real name,” W’Kabi whispers.

No one ever calls him that except his parents. By the time he’d moved to their neighborhood, he was going by Erik. He told him them he started calling himself that because people in his old neighborhood kept fucking up the pronunciation. Being kids and totally jealous of the fact that Erik could just change his name like that, they all tried only to be shot down by everyone who refused or couldn’t be bothered to remember that M’Baku, T’Challa, W’Kabi had chosen new names for themselves. Besides the neighborhood they grew up in had plenty of kids with African names, the result of Black is Beautiful and Back to Africa movements of the seventies.

“Pete called me asking me had I seen you. It’s 11:15 am. You’re supposed to be at the hotel doing what you need to do after AA then leaving the hotel by 12 to make it to the club on time. You’re not going to make it at this rate. Now I know that’s my fault. I should’ve said nothing after 11am so you’d be sure to make it on time. But I didn’t so here we are.” At those words, she pointedly looks at M’Baku, W’Kabi, T’Challa, and Ross, who all have sense enough to look guilty. “You need to come out and get the fuck to the church before I kill you for throwing the day off.”

“Babe, I still got 15 minutes.”

“N’Jadaka!”

“Babe, 15 minutes. I’ll make it to the church.”

Linda pounds on the door in response then spins on her heels. She’s walking across the room when she doubles over. T’Challa goes to her.

“Linda, are you alright?”

“The baby,” she whispers, right hand over her stomach.

“She’s faking,” W’Kabi says.

“Shut up, man!” M’Baku says to him.

“TRUCE!” T’Challa yells. “ERIK GET OUT HERE!”

T’Challa stands up and away from the couple once Erik is there with his arms wrapped around her. T’Challa can hear W’Kabi whispering to M’Baku and Ross that she’s faking, the timing being a little too perfect. Ross is calling him a jackass.

“We’ll going over there to see if she’s okay and then tag him,” W’Kabi whispers.

“You really think she’d lie about this?” M’Baku asks.

“Yeah.”

“ What if she’s not?”

“Either way, we got to tag him.”

“We said truce.”

“If she’s lying the truce doesn’t matter. Taken under false pretenses.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” M’Baku tells him. “He’s our friend.”

M’baku approaches, not to tag Erik but to make sure Linda’s alright. “Fuck off,” Erik seethes as his head pops up. He stands, helping Linda up in the process. “I’m taking Linda to the hospital.”

 

 

“What happened?” Nakia asks, jumping up the moment T’Challa enters his mother’s living room. He doesn’t answer just walks on by towards the stairs to the basement. None of the guys answer so she and Shuri follow them. “Is anyone going to tell me what the hell happened? You don’t look like you got ‘em, which begs the question how did you guys fuck that up?”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Ross starts before W’Kabi cuts him off with “Linda faked a miscarriage.”

“What?” Shuri asks.

“She didn’t fake a miscarriage,” M’Baku says for what feels like the fiftieth time since they left the community center.

“She did,” W’Kabi insists. “Trust me on this guys. She’s lying.”

M’Baku throws up his hands and heads to the bar in the corner. There’s a bottle Crown that will do just the trick. “Anybody else want any?” T’Challa and Ross raise their hands and make their way over.

“Well, if she had a miscarriage, the wedding is off. They probably told his sister,” Nakia muses. “M’Baku, call Erik’s mama’s house. She might be there.”

“Why me?”

“Because she’s been wanting you to hit that since she was 15.”

M’Baku scrunches up his nose. “Not little Ayo. She’s like my little sister.”

“Well, little Ayo has been grown for a long time now. Make the call.” M’Baku obeys even if he rolls his eyes at Nakia.

“Hey, Ayo. … Yeah, it’s M’Baku. … Yeah, I know I never call. So busy with work. You know how it is. Anyway, … I’ll save you a dance. … All the dances. … So I want to ask you about the wedding. What’s the location again? … Kinda got to’ up last night. Brown liquor and all that. Can’t remember. Can’t look at my invitation seeing as how I never got one. You know that whole story. … Yeah, your brother can be an ass sometimes. … I know. … Okay. Still at the country club at 4pm. You sure? Linda ain’t pulled a runaway bride? … I’m just messing with you girl. … All the dances. Promise. Bye.”

W’Kabi fist pumps the air. “Fucking knew it.”

“That bitch!” Nakia hisses.

“What is wrong with you people?” Shuri asks, sitting down on the sofa in the room. _I really can’t believe this!_ “What the hell am I doing here?”

Ross and M’Baku take another drink. Nakia starts pacing, muttering to herself while W’Kabi makes his way to the bar for a drink.

“T, you cool man?” M’Baku asks, clapping a hand on T’Challa’s shoulder. “T?” T’Challa hasn’t said a word and has that look on his face he gets when he’s trying to keep from popping off.

Nakia stops and opens her mouth to call his name when T’Challa hurls the glass he was holding into the far wall. “I’m going to tag him then kill him.”

 

 The drive to the country club is quiet. Every time someone attempts to speak to T’Challa, he silences them with a glare.

 

 

It’s a punch in the gut to see Linda with champagne in her hand laughing with her bridesmaid as she walks through the club’s lobby.

“Hey, guys,” she says to the group as if earlier hadn’t happened.

“Way to bounce back after a miscarriage,” W’Kabi comments.

“Sorry about that guys,” she says. She sounds sincere but everyone except Shuri has zero fucks to give about her being sorry. “It’s my wedding guys. I’m not going to let some game of tag ruin it. If anyone understands, it’s you Nakia, right?”

Nakia gets it but she’s too mad to confirm so she just stares at Linda.

“Okay, then,” Linda sighs. “Over here,” she says to the waiter walking by with a tray of champagne. “Take, drink, be happy for your friend. I don’t want things to be weird.”

Shuri finally breaks the silence with “Congratulations!”

“Traitor,” Ross whispers.

“Hey, genius, she has a point.”

 

So T’Challa doesn’t exactly kill Erik. Instead, he nearly kills himself in the process. Nobody saw what happened exactly. Only Erik expertly dodged T’Challa – yet again – and T’Challa went flying, crashing into a table.

Linda gasped in horror while Erik laughed and said, “Is this y’all man?” to his buddies while pointing to T’Challa.

He stopped laughing when it was clear T’Challa wasn’t getting back up.

 

“So you really sick?” Erik asks. T’Challa supposes they stepped away from the ballroom to someplace quiet. Despite it being his reception, he called T’s phone a couple of times after T was rushed to the hospital.

“Yeah,” T’Challa says.

“You not pulling one of Linda’s moves are you?”

“It was his idea,” Linda tells T’Challa while leaning over Erik’s shoulder.

“Ask my mom.”

T’Challa hands the phone to his mom. “It’s true. He didn’t want to tell you guys.”

“That’s fucked up T,” M’Baku says, immediately sorry when T’Challa’s mom cuts her eyes at him.

“He hung up,” his mom says, handing the phone to Nakia.

“Yeah, that’s real f…messed up,” Erik admonishes as he and Linda walk into T’Challa’s room. He’s still in his gray tux and Linda’s still in her gown.

“I didn’t know how to tell you guys,” T’Challa tells the room. “And I need to tell you guys something else.” He looks pointedly at M’Baku, Ross, and W’Kabi. “Erik’s not retiring. I just said that so you guys would come with me this year since I might not be around next year. I had one last chance.”

“Well, it’s not midnight just yet,” Erik says, walking up to T’Challa’s bed. “Tag me.”

“I don’t need your pity, man.”

“Not pity, bruh. Y’all my best friends. Y’all should’ve been involved in the wedding since the jump. I don’t know. …” Erik stops and shrugs. “I don’t know maybe if it wasn’t so important to not be tagged, we might not be here right now. Trying to kill yourself to tag me. That’s some crazy shit man. Sorry Auntie.”

Erik puts his hand back out towards T’Challa. He pulls Erik in, the grin on his face blinding.

When Erik pulls out away from T’Challa, he says, “Y’all mofos have 10 seconds to run.” The rest of the guys scramble, bumping into each other to get out of the room.

The waiting room is nearly empty, the few people there staring at four grown men all dressed up running around the room like crazy people with three women looking on. 

“AMENDMENT!” Erik shouts, coming up behind Nakia to lay a hand on her shoulder. “GIRLS ALLOWED!”

“Erik, you asshole! She’s too intense,” W’Kabi says, ducking behind a nurse as Nakia manages to catch M’Baku, who immediately is able to tag Shuri.  

“I can’t play,” she tells M’Baku.

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re in this. In deep. Can’t get out now,” M’Baku tells her as he backs away like he knows she’ll agree. She does.

_I’m so fired._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Was this terrible? Oh, man. So I saw this movie and was like someone should write a story about Avenger’s playing tag. If you’ve seen the movie, then you probably had the same thought as soon as Jeremy Renner showed up. That’s not a spoiler for the movie. He’s on the poster. Anyway, I kept thinking ‘Hawkeye’ every time he showed up. Then I thought about Tag: The Black Panther edition. And that’s what you got. I hoped you enjoyed this. Probably not. I had to get this out my head and I spent so much time on this that this wasn’t just going to sit on my computer.


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